A Charmed Life | Page 6

for those in the hill above to wipe out the memory
of Adhuntas.
Chesterton had been riding at a gallop, but, as he reached the place

where the men lay in ambush, he pulled El Capitan to a walk, and took
advantage of his first breathing spell to light his pipe. He had already
filled it, and was now fumbling in his pocket for his match-box. The
match-box was of wood such as one can buy, filled to the brim with
matches, for one penny. But it was a most precious possession. In the
early days of his interest in Miss Armitage, as they were once setting
forth upon a motor trip, she had handed it to him.
"Why," he asked.
"You always forget to bring any," she said simply, "and have to borrow
some."
The other men in the car, knowing this to be a just reproof, laughed
sardonically, and at the laugh the girl had looked up in surprise.
Chesterton, seeing the look, understood that her act, trifling as it was,
had been sincere, had been inspired simply by thought of his comfort.
And he asked himself why young Miss Armitage should consider his
comfort, and why the fact that she did consider it should make him so
extremely happy. And he decided it must be because she loved him and
he loved her.
Having arrived at that conclusion, he had asked her to marry him, and
upon the match-box had marked the date and the hour. Since then she
had given him many pretty presents, marked with her initials, marked
with his crest, with strange cabalistic mottoes that meant nothing to any
one save themselves. But the wooden matchbox was still the most
valued of his possessions.
As he rode into the valley the rays of the moon fell fully upon him, and
exposed him to the outpost as pitilessly as though he had been held in
the circle of a search-light.
The bronzed Mausers pushed cautiously through the screen of vines.
There was a pause, and the rifle of the sergeant wavered. When he
spoke his tone was one of disappointment.
"He is a scout, riding alone," he said.
"He is an officer," returned the sharp-shooter, excitedly. "The others
follow. We should fire now and give the signal."
"He is no officer, he is a scout," repeated the sergeant. "They have sent
him ahead to study the trail and to seek us. He may be a league in
advance. If we shoot HIM, we only warn the others."
Chesterton was within fifty yards. After an excited and anxious search

he had found the match-box in the wrong pocket. The eyes of the
sharp-shooter frowned along the barrel of his rifle. With his chin
pressed against the stock he whispered swiftly from the corner of his
lips, "He is an officer! I am aiming where the strap crosses his heart.
You aim at his belt. We fire together."
The heat of the tropic night and the strenuous gallop had covered El
Capitan with a lather of sweat. The reins upon his neck dripped with it.
The gauntlets with which Chesterton held them were wet. As he raised
the matchbox it slipped from his fingers and fell noiselessly in the trail.
With an exclamation he dropped to the road and to his knees, and
groping in the dust began an eager search.
The sergeant caught at the rifle of the sharpshooter, and pressed it
down.
"Look!" he whispered. "He IS a scout. He is searching the trail for the
tracks of our ponies. If you fire they will hear it a league away."
"But if he finds our trail and returns--"
The sergeant shook his head. "I let him pass forward," he said grimly.
"He will never return."
Chesterton pounced upon the half-buried matchbox, and in a panic lest
he might again lose it, thrust it inside his tunic.
"Little do you know, El Capitan," he exclaimed breathlessly, as he
scrambled back into the saddle and lifted the pony into a gallop, "what
a narrow escape I had. I almost lost it."
Toward midnight they came to a wooden bridge swinging above a
ravine in which a mountain stream, forty feet below, splashed over
half-hidden rocks, and the stepping stones of the ford. Even before the
campaign began the bridge had outlived its usefulness, and the
unwonted burden of artillery, and the vibrations of marching men had
so shaken it that it swayed like a house of cards. Threatened by its own
weight, at the mercy of the first tropic storm, it hung a death trap for
the one who first added to its burden.
No sooner had El Capitan struck it squarely with his four hoofs, than he
reared and, whirling, sprang back to the solid earth. The suddenness